This excerpt appears in the NYC journal
section of When You Smile You Let in Light.
It was written Exactly 30 years ago while
I was on break from my factory temp job.
I still remember the sunlight that day.
In Central Park today, escaping from the office
for the green wind of park statues and pigeons,
I was eating a cheese sandwich under the singing
trees and I heard a cry for help. When I got up
to investigate, the voice seemed further away,
like leaving, so I almost tripped over him
in my hurry. When I discovered him he was
the size of a cola bottle. He was shrinking away
fast, yelling out little lungs. There was nothing
I could do (thinking maybe I could cup my
hands about him like a carbonated matchstick)
but I could only watch him shrink into a cigarette
signature and blow away like the smallest
wind-up biplane toy.